


Collected Person of Interest Snippets

by KillClaudio



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Eavesdropping, Episode Tag, Episode: s01e18 Identity Crisis, Episode: s03e05 Razgovor, Ficlet Collection, M/M, Snippets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:55:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23580436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillClaudio/pseuds/KillClaudio
Summary: Snippets and flashfic originally posted on Tumblr.
Relationships: Harold Finch/John Reese
Kudos: 7





	1. Drugged - Finch/Reese, T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harold gets drugged yet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in response to lisagarlandd's cute post about _Identity Crisis_. [Original post on Tumblr](https://killclaudia.tumblr.com/post/179086319798/im-sorry-i-had-to-helping-harold-up-the)

Helping Harold up the library stairs was like deja vu all over again.

"Just how did you manage to get drugged twice in as many months?"

"Am I drugged?" Harold turned to try to get a better look at a stained glass window and nearly tripped over his own feet.

John got a firmer grip on his elbow. "Yes, Harold. The number spiked your drink to put you out of commission. Again. Here we go." He steered them both through the doorway and propped Harold against the table while he rooted around in their emergency supplies. "Okay, you know the drill. Lots of water and a blanket on the couch for you, a long night sleeping in a chair for me."

Harold looked around vaguely, as if trying to work out where he was. When John came back with the blanket, Harold smiled and leaned forward as though he was about to tell him a secret. "Hey. You wanna hack the Pentagon?"

"That your idea of fun, Harold?"

Harold nodded, with the extreme seriousness of small children and the very drunk. "The most fun you can have with your clothes on."

There was an image John would try not to think about later. Speaking of which… "You’ll be more comfortable without your tie," John said. He mimed undoing it, but Harold just stared at him vacantly. "Come here." He pulled the knot in Harold’s tie apart with delicate fingers, trying not to touch him as much as he wanted.

Harold apparently didn’t have the same qualms. His hands slid under John’s jacket and over the front of his shirt.

John jerked back slightly. "No, we’re taking off your tie. I’m not wearing one." He pushed Harold’s hands away, but they immediately found their way to his waist instead. "No, Harold—"

"Hey, John?" Harold was struggling not to giggle. There was really no point pretending John found that anything other than adorable.

"If this is going to be a joke about binary or something, I swear to God…"

"No, I was gonna— Oh! I do know a joke about binary. How many people… no, there’s two kinds of people… no, there’s ten kinds of people…"

Finally John got the tie off, rolled it and tucked it in Harold’s pocket. "I’m gonna get the water. Why don’t you sit down?"

"Okay," Harold said, cheerfully, and then he started to giggle again. "Wait, no, I remember now. Can I borrow a kiss? I promise I’ll give it back."

John turned around, rubbing the back of his neck. At this rate, it was going to be a long night. "Smooth, Finch. Did that work on the girls at MIT?"

"Uh-huh. They thought I was cute."

John looked at Harold, his hair ruffled, his shirt collar hanging open, a dopey smile lighting up his face. "I’ll just bet they did. Stay there."

When he came back with the water, Harold was sitting on the couch, apparently fascinated by the patterns the overhead lights were throwing on the ceiling. "Oh. Wow. It’s pretty."

John knelt in front of him. "Here, drink this."

Harold drank obediently, finishing most of the bottle in a few swallows. "So?"

"Hmm?" John replied, distracted by the way Harold tipped his head back as he drank, the sight of his collarbone peeking through the open neck of his shirt…

"A kiss. Can I borrow one?" Harold started to slide forward, balance destroyed by the drugs, and John reached up to catch him in his arms as Harold turned his head—

Harold’s lips were warm and tender, only barely moving against John’s. Even so it lit John up like a switchboard, left his stomach and chest tight with a joy that was as much pain as pleasure. Harold’s hands wandered up to stroke his cheek, his hair, and John sank into it, trying to memorize every sensation. It was the only chance he’d get.

Finally, he tipped Harold gently back to a sitting position. His face must have betrayed his shock.

"Not a good joke?" Harold asked plaintively.

"It’s great, Harold," John assured him. He fluffed the pillows at the end of the couch and gently guided Harold to lie down, then pulled the blanket up over his shoulders. "It’s just this time I think the joke’s on me."

"Tomorrow," Harold murmured, settling under the blanket. "I’ll give it back. I promise."

Well, a man could dream. "I don’t think so," John said. "Tomorrow you’ll be sober."

"You should—" Harold paused to yawn. "You should know by now, I invariably keep my promises."

John let one hand creep from Harold’s shoulder into his hair, smooth as silk between his fingers. "You do, don’t you?"

Harold’s reply was mumbled quietly into the pillow. "Always, Mr. Reese."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The joke Harold is trying to tell John is:
>
>> There are 10 different kinds of people, those who understand binary and those who don't.


	2. Bugged, Finch/Reese, M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post- _Razgovor_ , Harold tries to find the bug that Shaw has hidden in the library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Original post on Tumblr](https://killclaudia.tumblr.com/post/179763122098/i-watched-razgovor-again-today-and-had-a-sudden)

Shaw turned down Harold’s offer of a ride and left with Bear, cooing at him that he was a good boy. Harold spared once last glance at the expensive boarding school, sent up a brief prayer that Gen would be safe and happy there, and made his way back to the library alone.

Except he was never alone. Half way home his earpiece buzzed, and John’s warm voice came through a moment later, checking in, checking he was okay. They chatted idly while Harold navigated the traffic, background noises telling him that John was cleaning his weapon, checking their stock of ammunition; the end-of-case rituals that prepared him for whatever tomorrow would bring. The journey flew by.

John was reassembling his handgun when Harold reached the library. He smiled up at Harold, perfectly at ease. "Dinner?"

"That would be lovely. Did you have anywhere in mind?"

"How about that Jamaican place? Haven’t been there in a while."

"Good idea. Their curried goat was delicious." Harold looked around the library. "However, I’m afraid I have one more task before we can eat."

John raised his eyebrows and mouthed _Shaw’s bug?_

Harold nodded. He pulled the radiofrequency detector he’d been using out of the filing card cabinet in the corner, mentally reviewing the places he’d already checked. Every little nook around the table, board and bookcases had been covered, but he hadn’t gone above shoulder height. He looked around for the ladder.

But John was shaking his head and gesturing for Harold to put the scanner down. He slid the last piece of his sidearm into place with a satisfying click, tucked it into the waistband of his trousers, and settled back in his chair. Then he took a deep breath, and let out a long, loud moan.

Harold jumped. It hadn’t sounded like pain. No, this was the way he imagined John sounded when he—

John winked, a satisfied smirk pulling at his lips. He did it again.

Harold reminded himself to breathe. Clearly John was faking it for some arcane reason of his own. But Harold’s body didn’t seem to have got the message, adrenaline flooding him and making him suddenly hyper-aware of his own skin, the brush of his shirt against his chest. He swallowed.

 _What are you doing?_ he mouthed at John. In reply, John waggled his eyebrows and mimed looking for the bug, then pointed to his ear. Shaw. Shaw might be listening.

John was panting heavily now, the sound filling the library. One exhalation turned into a slight whimper, barely audible, then louder as though he was losing the ability to control his reactions. As though a lover had dragged the sound out of him.

Harold felt hot all over. He loosened his tie as discreetly as possible, conscious that his face was almost certainly red. John’s voice was always pleasant, and Harold could admit that he enjoyed having him murmuring in his ear a little more than was wise. This was something else entirely. This was a fantasy suddenly and startlingly come to life in the middle of the library.

And he knew without doubt that it would come back to him later. That alone in the middle of the night he wasn’t going to be able to stop himself from remembering. John’s hands loose on the arm of the chair, legs spread, his head tipped back slightly as though he really was being touched. There was a faint expression of mischief on his face, and he was making low humming sounds now, punctuated with a desperate gasp of delight.

As casually as he could manage, Harold moved around the table, putting the monitors between them. His jacket was a single-button cut-away, which meant it only partially disguised the bulge he was no doubt sporting by now. He tried to think of something else, sorting books into their Dewey Decimal numbers in his head, trying to remember the mnemonics for programs he’d long stopped using, anything, while all the time his body clamored to be pressed against John’s warmth.

John looked at him right then, and Harold pulled his expression back to his usual calm control. John was gesturing at him expectantly, and for a moment, Harold could only stare at him in confusion. Oh no. He wanted Harold to join in. No. He could not possibly bring himself to do this.

"John." Harold was horrified at his own voice, low and ragged and longing. John apparently thought Harold was an extraordinary actor, because he smiled in satisfaction and went back to making his own noises.

"God," John said, a breathy plea. "Oh god, Harold…"

"Jesus." Shaw’s voice through the earpiece made Harold leap out of his skin. "You guys take it somewhere else right now, I am not working in a room where you two have been— uugh."

Instantly, John dropped all pretense as though he’d been wiped clean. He was outright grinning now. "Eavesdroppers don’t hear anything good, Shaw."

"Yeah, yeah. The bug’s in the light fitting above Finch’s desk. Take it, destroy it, I don’t care, just never make me listen to that again, okay?"

Harold found his voice with difficulty. "Thank you, Ms. Shaw. We’ll take care of it."

"Gotta tell you, Finch, you need to work on your romantic patter. ‘One more task’? You can do better than that. John’s a delicate flower, you know?"

"I’m not the one who got made by a ten-year-old this week," John said, and Shaw made a disgusted noise.

"Yes, I’ll take that under advisement, Ms. Shaw. Have a good evening," Harold said firmly, and finally Shaw hung up.

John fetched the folding ladder and opened it next to the desk, still smiling. Harold instinctively went to hold the ladder while John hung off it at a precarious angle to feel around the light. After a moment he tossed a small object down. Harold caught it. It was a basic commercial bug, the kind easily purchased on the internet. He took enormous pleasure in crushing it beneath his heel.

While John put the ladder away Harold tried to slow his breathing, willing his body to back down. He sank back against the table behind him, which had the unfortunate effect of pushing his hips forward and causing the edges of his jacket to fall back. Harold ran a hand over his face and prepared to push himself up again, and at that moment John came back.

John. Thank god for John. He took in the whole situation at a glance – Harold’s flushed face and death grip on the table, the obscene state of his pants – and before Harold even had time to begin to feel shame, John was across the room and kissing him.

He wrapped one around Harold’s waist to steady him, knees softened so they were nearly the same height. The other hand stroked Harold’s cheek softly, as John pressed open lips to Harold’s. His kiss was firm, sure, leaving no room to doubt what it was they were doing.

The kindness was overwhelming. Harold paid it back as best he could, pulling hard at John’s lapels to keep him close, kissing him with abandon, murmuring against John’s lips how beautiful he was, how good, how long Harold had wanted to do this.

John made a sound, not the pornographic groans of a moment ago but a sound of pure need that struck Harold in his heart as much as anywhere. He pulled back and buried his face in Harold’s shoulder. "Do you really…?" he murmured.

Harold held him tighter. "More than anything."

John didn’t move, but Harold could feel the slight huff of a laugh against his neck. "Me too."

"What a happy coincidence." Harold ran a hand through John’s hair, gentling them both. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, yeah." John raised his head. He was smiling, warm and tender, eyes alight with a kind of incredulous delight that Harold was sure was reflected on his own face. "Hey, Harold? You think Shaw has tried to bug my apartment?"

"There’s only one way to find out."


	3. Kidnapped - Finch/Reese, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt '100 words of one long sentence'.

John doesn't believe in many things; not luck, for sure, and definitely not fate; he doesn't believe in preparation when the worst moments of his life have been things no one is prepared for; doesn't believe in institutions since those institutions left him for dead; he doesn't believe in coincidence; and he sure as hell doesn't believe in God: John doesn't need any of that when he's got Harold, standing at the door to John's cell with a mild smile on his face and the state-of-the-art, million-dollar lock in pieces in his hands, and saying, "No time for dilly-dallying, Mr Reese—we have work to do."


End file.
